


once I was told but like any misfit

by tatterdemalionAmberite (amberite), titianArchivist



Series: Wires and Stars Smut/Angst/Hurt-Comfort Addenda [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Buckets (Homestuck), Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Insecurity, M/M, Pailing, Xeno, background Sollux/Psiioniic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberite/pseuds/tatterdemalionAmberite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/titianArchivist/pseuds/titianArchivist
Summary: Take off my clothesAnd I feel uselessDon't think I knowHow to do thisOnce I was toldBut like any misfitI spit on some good advice-Mother Mother, "Wisdom"Sollux and Karkat figure out adult pailing. (Can be read as a standalone story.)





	once I was told but like any misfit

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place towards the later part of [Consummation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/933791).
> 
> Troll development very markedly isn't human development in W&Sverse: they're about 8 sweeps/roughly 21 human years here, and Sollux has just undergone second puberty. 
> 
> Reading this will make some later explicit events make more sense (it'll be linked from the main story for this purpose.) It will also expose you to some prime Karkat vocabulary.

You're familiar with the details from the schoolfeeds and you've been sexually active in one way or another for a couple of sweeps now, but it's still weird to recognize this happening to you; right on schedule, too, for a quadranted troll of your bloodcaste. For once you're perfectly average. 

You don't let on about it right away; if you just told KK straight up and gave him time to think about it, he'd flip his mutant pan casing; _he_ hasn't gone into season yet and you don't want him to go over all panicked, or the wrong kind of jealous. You just want... ughhh, you're not sure what you want; you're still figuring out this kind of wanting. But when you're wrestling with him on his makeshift concupiscent couch and he elbows you in the abdomen, it hits something weirdly tender that hurts like hell and you gasp out loud, and he looks at you, uncomprehending.

"Do I need to dig out old schoolfeed tracks, is that a thing that needs to happen," you ask rhetorically. 

He blinks and then figures it out, frozen halfway on top of you. "Well, _fuck_."

"That is the idea, yes."

"Somenight you're going to use that bucketlicking stupid line on me one time too many and find your bare ass dumped on the wrong side of my hiveportal, bulgewad," Karkat snaps, the sentence coming out in bits and snarls between pawing cautiously at your side as if it's going to bite him and getting shoved for his efforts. This is the stuff his mouth comes up with automatically while his thinkpan is starting that acrobatic fucking spin off the holding device routine you were trying to avoid.

"C'mon, it isn't rocket science, trust me, I've spent the last fucking perigee digesting rocket science until equations are oozing out my spongeclots." Okay, so you're a little weirdly nervous too. 

"Ooh, color me seduced, nerdlord," he snickers, halfheartedly shoving your shoulder. "If I keep hanging around you my bulge is going to be a permanently internal organ. ...On second thought that might be better for everybody. Congratulations, rocket surgeoladiator, I just figured out why the fuck I put up with you."

When he mentions his bulge the mental images threaten to overwhelm your ability to snark back at him, but you keep a hold on it. "Yeah, that would explain it, all right, but why you have your _clothes_ off, on the other hand, that's much harder to explain. I guess I shouldn't underestimate your inherent perversity. Also, the KK tries to convince me he's not gagging for it game is so last sweep. Not sure what about my globes swelling up is making you come over all nostalgic," you snipe right back and then you're in his face, trying to distract him from being weirded out by nipping at his jaw. You don't want weirded out; you don't want a big production of this, you just want his bulge in you.

"Fuck," Karkat announces again bluntly, knocks you square in the teeth with his jaw and scrapes back at your cheek with his fangs, growling in a short barely audible burst. "Nostalgia is for propagandragoons and schoolfeed writers, and as for gagging for it, the seedflap-for-brains pot is calling the water boiling device black –" Then he hooks his knee around the back of yours and your hips collide with a jarring thump, his sheath smearing a slightly cool streak onto your stomach.

The weird swollen feeling jostles again and you suck in a breath that squeaks slightly.

Karkat quirks an eyebrow at you with an obnoxiously wide fanged grin. "Do all rocket scientists make lost baby squeakbeast noises or is that just you?"

"Aw, shut up," - But you're blushing, and you're kind of enjoying your own haplessness, and he's ripped into you about _that_ before and you're half expecting him to do it again, and you're not sure you understand why your bulge twitches at the thought, but it does. 

Karkat just keeps grinning and shoves up with his hips again, ignoring your bulge and aiming again for that tender spot that made you squeak, claws digging into your shoulder. "Nope. Not buying the 'help, Karkat, I've fallen cranial shell first into my own nook and I can't get up' routine tonight. Make me."

"I just. _Fuck_ ," and you nearly shout the word, because every time he slams up into you it's this kind of hollow ringing pain that makes you lose your breath, and when it fades he's still pressing up against your abdomen and you know something's _happening_ there, it's this weird sense of pressure that hurts and feels good at once and makes your bulge slide out against your belly as suddenly and forcefully as if someone was tugging on it. "But what if I _have_ , what then," and it's idiocy and banter but it's also vaguely serious, you're trying to convey something you don't quite know how to say, because you feel kind of lightheaded and your body is in _charge_ right now in a way it isn't usually, and KK grounds you; he's your kismesis but he's also your closest old friend who's still here, and he deliberately deals with all the parts of you that aren't rocket science, and you hate him for it, and you need it like air.

"I keep trying to pail the stupid out of you," he says in a theatrically exasperated moan with a despairing roll of his eyes, "Isn't there some kind of hoofbeastshit saying about the definition of insanity – _shit_ –" Karkat's _oh fuck this is actually happening_ face is out in full force as your bulge slithers out between your bodies, wide warm-gray eyes and mouth half-open, and your tendrils instinctively seek the slowly emerging first inches of his, a slippery half-coil pulling your bulge up tight against his stomach. He half-swallows a growly gasp that comes out as a completely undignified croak and his fingers move convulsively on your shoulder, slip down until clawtips are scrabbling at your grubscars.

"See, that wasn't so difficult noOWNNGH." You sip air through your teeth again. He knows what that does to you, and your voice comes out strangled as you mutter, "And if you, theoretically speaking, were going to stuff my nook sometime soo-hhHNNN -" Oh, fuck, you can barely speak coherently, you're doing a laughable job of hiding your desperation, but this is no fun if you don't at least try to mount a resistance, and you don't want to _actually_ be a bad lay. "- Then I might conveniently forget how hard I swore to own your ass last time -" And your bulges tangle harder and he very deliberately nicks the edge of a grubscar and, no, language just isn't happening right now.

"Oh, _theoretically_ you would've owned my ass –" Karkat shoves at you, talking breathlessly as he goes until he's almost mouthing words with little more than hissing coming out and you've wound up fully straddling his hips, his bulge a fully extended writhing slick painting slime from the root of your bulge to the crease of your thigh and back. Now he's growl-whimpering with you, panting without ever quite catching his breath – "If you hadn't melted into Alternia's most overpowered puddle instead, I see how it is –" But still not shutting up or letting his bulge quite reach the slit of your nook where you're dripping all over his thighs and the cushions – "Maybe try theoretically begging a bit more and see what happens?" The end of the sentence turns up into a squeaky closed-throated question and he snarls with frustration but his hips still don't move.

It feels so incredible just the way his bulge is probing at you and you want to beg, but you also want - you grab at his shoulders, press him down against the cushions, laughing roughly as your bulge squirms against his belly. "Okay, you want to play cluckbeast, I'll play cluckbeast. How about I literally, actually hump you like this until your entire torso is covered in genetic material and none of it's yours -" Which is not the way you want this to go, your nook is a hot mess of ache and dribbling threads of wetness as if it could pull him in that way, but you're still hungry for the look on his face, and so you reach your hand down and start stroking your bulge, massaging it lavishly with your fingers, eyes closed like no one is watching, letting loose unabashed throaty moans as you work your fingers over from base to tips and down in between. 

Karkat actually splutters, a completely gratifying series of choked nonsense syllables that don't even succeed in being expletives; bucks his hips up in a single futile spasm, claws raking down your thigh. "If for some unfathomable reason I wanted to be the bucket in this situation I would fucking ask – _ahhh_ – globefondling showoff –" With your psionics you sense his other hand starting toward your wrist to stop you only to hover awkwardly in midair as he gets distracted watching. He's panting and gasping as if you're touching him, as if huffing your pheromones is going to help his case any and it should be offputting but it's just smugly satisfying – "Oh, fuck it," he finally snaps, and then all you feel is his bulge plunging into you, thick and stiff-swollen and all at once, his whole body arcing off the cushions with striving to stuff you full faster.

So sudden with no preparation that you gasp raggedly for air and tense all over, thighs clamping down around him and your own hand clutching tighter at your bulge as perspiration breaks out on your skin and you curse into the air. "Yeah, that's more like it --" You're moving your hips, grinding down on him, trying to drive his writhing bulge deeper into you as your own coils tighter around your fingers, and you wonder if you look as glazed-eyed zoned out from sensation as you feel.

Karkat is a flurry of claws and fangs as if to make up for giving in, stinging stripes down your thighs, halfway sitting up to bite at your already claw-worried shoulder. His bulge thrashes in you without aim or restraint, almost deliberately thoughtless, pressure that shifts as soon as you lean into it, and his face is all furious intensity, no trace of the banked panic that was plainly written there seconds ago. It's as if his whole compact body is joining in his loud arrhythmic growling, taut and frantic and out of sync.

And even thoroughly schoolfed as you are, as experienced as you are with the things your body already does, you have no real idea - well - how _this_ is supposed to _feel_ exactly; you know to anticipate a sort of pressure (different from the usual pressure?) and a pleasurable 'catching sensation', whatever that's supposed to mean, and then a different kind of pressure and some muscle contractions (different from the usual...?) but no matter how many sex manuals you've retained in your cranial casing, your body is flying blind. All you know is that KK's bulge in you feels both amazing, like _really_ amazing, velvety against the near-ticklish-sensitized walls of your nook and insufficient; and normally _not enough_ means speed up, but - "Slow the fuck down," you manage, although you don't sound half sure about it, but you grind your hips down as deliberately as you can, trying to force him deeper as you grab his waist and scrape your claws across his lower back, the spots on the sides that always get a good reaction out of him.

"What if I don't fucking want to?" he pants, then falls back onto the cushions with a ragged gasp as your claws dig in, hissing through closed fangs and yellow-flecked lips. Despite his protest he seems to be trying, his bulge actually shuddering in you as his hips stiffen and jerk and stiffen again, never quite stilling. He snarls like he's being throttled and thumps his head against the platform, vivid-bright crimson showing through gray all down his face and neck, and the tendril lashes in you again, deeper but still too frenetic.

Talking is not a thing that's continuing to happen here. Not for a while, at any rate. You open your mouth and - "I _nnnnghnnn_ ," comes out, as if it's some kind of grand witty remark, and your bulge no longer having your fingers to hold onto is two tendrils coiling around each other, rubbing instinctive and rhythmic between KK's belly and yours, and it's pressing at that spot on your abdomen and this time it feels even weirder, not just tender but _stretched_ , and when he rocks his hips up and your body tilts with his, there's this kind of liquid sloshing feeling that makes you let out a sudden desperate moan. 

"Wow, fuck," Karkat breathes, nearly as inarticulate as you. When he reaches to paw awkwardly at your stomach the gesture is almost gentle for all that it's still an unexpected almost-painful jostling, and then his hand is around your bulges, thick-fingered and callused and _good_ to rub against but the contact doesn't _get_ you anywhere – " _Fuck_ ," he moans again, drawn-out frustrated, and his bulge is finally slowing, probing deliberate-forceful and so deep in your nook that you think this might have hurt if you weren't so – but not _finding_ anything –

For a while you just keep moving the way you usually do, figuring nature will take its course somehow, and your bulge curls hard around his hand and it's like something's being _squeezed_ inside you, pressure turning to an ache, pushing the walls of your nook hard and tight around KK's bulge, making the familiar feel strange, and you're lightheaded with gasping and groaning by the time that you realize this isn't working and that you're going to need to change angles. And then, "We should, uh. We should have a pail ready -" Because you're feeling like you're hovering on the brink, even though that 'catching sensation' hasn't happened, and you're scared of how quickly this might happen when it does -

Karkat shivers all over like you've just slipped fingers into his nook or run claws down his back but all he says is an abrupt "Right," his head falling to the side so he isn't looking at you, and he was tense before but now your hands on his waist meet nothing but knots and stiffness. He's growling even louder now, and what control he had over his bulge must slip entirely because it lashes hard and sudden, whacks into a spot that's so tender you almost double over and then draws back, writhing at random –

"Aghhkkghh. You do _have_ one? - right? - you didn't miss _that_ schoolfeed?" Your nook is going into waves of rippling and you can't stop your hips from rolling, pushing into the feeling, squirming, and you think you might be about to pail but instead it's this weird half-orgasm, like you pulled back from the edge just a little too late, and you're clamping down and shuddering all over but nothing comes out, and you're pretty sure you can definitely locate your shame globes on an anatomical diagram of the Sollux now because they feel _pinched_ and you let out a curse and a whimper.

At least Karkat isn't mocking you for the sounds you're making anymore because he whimpers over you and twice as loudly, his voice lower and harsher and pinched with effort. His hand flails at his discarded clothes, his bulge drawing partway out of you as he stretches and gasps and slurs, "Fuck, wait." He fiddles with his sylladex, his bulge twitching more shallowly now at once a relief from holding back and a maddening loss of contact, the deepest part of your nook nearly itching with emptiness. "And also what the fuck was _that_ –" A pail drops out of nowhere into an opening in the tangle of cushions and sheets that passes for a concupiscent couch, and Karkat groans in relief and pulls you back down onto him, filling you full again but still not quite enough. 

When he draws back you growl, purely reflexively, and then when he repositions you it jolts your genetic sac again and every time that happens it's like it stuns you and it takes you a moment to catch your breath again - "This is it, KK, this is the moment of truth, now we get to see if your bulge is actually sufficient to its purpose -" You're babbling a shaky stream of hatefriendly hoofbeastshit, half to distract yourself from worrying about just that, until said bulge flicks against that spot again and then you just blurt out - you're pretty sure the word 'please' left your mouth, much to your embarrassment, but you're not sure if you were begging KK or your own body to cooperate.

Neither is responding the way you want. Karkat is shoving you back with a pained look on his face; the weird internal sensation that accompanies the shove distracts you enough that you fall back on the sheet panting, unsure what he has in mind. 

"KK, what -"

"Maybe it isn't," he says, and you can tell that underneath his angry snarl is panic - "Maybe it isn't, and _then_ what - have you even jammed that line of reasoning through your cranial sponge, because _I have_ -"

You groan out loud. "Of _all the fucking times_ to have a nice long stare up your own waste chute, KK - do you think I'd actually be here on your concupiscent couch if I didn't like to get a good wrecking from your bulge every now and again -"

"This isn't _about_ what you think." He's - aw, fuck. You look up and his eyes are moist, the low light reflecting off them more red-tinged than usual. Whereas you've still got the mother of all wigglies and you can't actually tell the building pressure at the back of your nook to stop and wait, even if _you_ have to. "I don't _know_ if it's going to work, I could be shaped entirely wrong for this, my mutant hemochrome could fail to trigger the chemical reaction -"

"You know, you're not the only mutant in the room. Maybe my seedflap is defective, maybe I can't pail without being stuffed by two bulges and I'm gonna be in a world of hurt regardless, or _maybe we're just new at this and you're exploding into a fountain of insecurity for no goddamn reason because that's what Karkats do best_." You really hope the fact that you're sitting up gingerly and yelling in his face is helping. Sometimes it does. More to the point, if you can persuade him to find fault with you rather than himself, you might get his bulge to unsheath all the way again and find its way into your nook. Roughly would be good right about now. 

"What did I say about the pot and the water boiling device again," Karkat snips, but at least he doesn't flinch out of proximity to your face, close up and furiously blinking back the blur of red over his eyes. "You think I wouldn't still wreck your weirdass bifurcated shit if – fucking _damn it_. You're incorrigible. I give the fuck up." Which is apparently Karkat for he _doesn't_ give up – it isn't like he ever has before – since he shoves you in the direction of the pail with the clear expectation that you'll catch yourself before whacking your horns on metal and then goes down after you, fangs snipping at your ear, clacking in the air once before fastening around cartilage.

Your attempt at a snide mutter is lost and you're making a ridiculous keening noise instead, knees pulled up and hooked around KK's thighs, and you need his bulge in you - but just the tip is out, probing at the lips of your nook, fuck, what a fantastic time for it to get shy, and you're reaching down to coax him back out with your fingers and biting and cursing into his shoulder. It doesn't take much; he's whining startled and deafening-loud the moment he breathes in with his blunt red-flushed nose pressed to your neck. His bulge responds to your hand almost faster than you can move your fingers, slipping between them and burrowing into slickness, less blunt and sudden-full than last time when you weren't quite ready and more like being pierced – And when he's fully unsheathed again, you're clamping down hard around him almost instantly, and his weight pressing into your abdomen makes the heavy hard curve of your genetic sac throb painfully, which brings so much slick moisture to your inner walls that it almost blunts feeling - 

And Karkat is still cursing to himself under his breath between groaning, shaking slightly as his bulge prods and quests but at least the interruption has slowed this down so that the seeking tendril keeps brushing tantalizingly close to _something_. Not the rough lashing that you thought you wanted but focused circling searching pressure that tugs at you just the same as the aching weight centered between your hipbones, only felt from the other side – his claws curl and unclench just under your grubscars as his groaning goes to frustrated, fixated whining that in any other situation would be hilariously like the noises he makes when he's failing at coding.

The restless movements of your hips have gone to tiny sliding adjustments, and you only realize you were growling deep in the back of your throat when you realize you've stopped, and you're holding your breath. So close, and touching, and _pushing_ \- and then it happens so fast you barely have time to think about it, you feel something in you open and clench shut again and then the tip of his bulge is in you deeper than it's ever been before, like you've bitten down on it from inside, and it's so thunderously exquisite and so bizarre a sensation that you gulp in breath and clutch at KK's hips, desperately willing him not to pull back - 

But he's letting out something between a growl and a scream and scratching all the way down your already claw-scored sides, grabbing at your hips at almost the same time you do and holding on, his bulge rippling and pushing where it's trapped, each time sending hot jolts that start at what must be your seedflap and skitter up your spine – movement that only intensifies when he locks back his groaning with a sort of drowning catch in his throat and goes silent in parallel with you, tense-still except for his writhing bulge, holding back and grimacing with the effort of it.

"KK - wha -" You're trying to ask _what are you doing_ and the words are lost in a choked-off howl as his bulgetip twitches again, probing at you from the inside - you can't _handle_ this, it feels so good it almost hurts, an illusory burning through liquid heat and this kind of pulsation as your seedflap tightens around him, and you dig your fingers into his sides hard enough to leave clawmarks, eyes wide and sparking off erratically, breath coming in urgent grunts -

He responds with a snarl and a single hard all-over shudder, lips drawn back from his fangs like he's going to speak or bite and eyes squeezed shut, but before he even opens his mouth his bulge is thrashing a final time and hips twisting against yours bruising-hard and even just the first wave of it feels like far too much pressure, like there's no possibility that this tiny aching-heavy cavity that you were barely aware of before tonight could hold anything more, inner walls straining against liquid turbulent heat –

And before you have the chance to even think about it your body is pushing back, hard and sudden, your muscles wrenching viselike pushing back against his bulge and there's this gush of fluid that leaves you with that clench of muscles, splattering into the pail with a perfectly sordid plinking noise, that you hear only dimly through the blood pounding in your ears and the immensity of relief - and it goes on and on, every spasm that grips your sac seems to open your seedflap further, enough that you think you would be _done_ by now but you must still be squeezing more out of your shame globes, until instead of hard pulsing spatters you're dribbling out slurry that makes a splashing noise when it falls, too stunned to try looking down but it must be inches deep at least -

"Well," Karkat gasps, then just pants for a while, finally rolls off you and onto his back with a heavy thud, a weird oversensitized feeling of wetness and suction as his bulge slips from your nook. "...fuck." His arm flops over his eyes, sickle-practice scars shining with sweat. "We did the thing. We... did half of the thing. This is the part where we discover that drones have some kind of freaky long-range mutant slime sensor by getting our guts shot out through the hiveportal, right?" But he isn't really _that_ hysterical; if he was entirely serious then he'd be halfway to his sickles already and talking five times as fast. It sounds more like he's doing the freaking out and making fun of himself for it at once thing, and that you can handle. "What the fuck are we even going to _do_ with this shit?"


End file.
